


Before Florence

by dysonrules



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 16:02:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1824184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysonrules/pseuds/dysonrules
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is visiting Florence, Italy, when he runs into an unexpected person. They decide to explore the city together and by the end of the night, everything that Harry thought he knew had changed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before Florence

**Author's Note:**

> This submission is part of HD Smoochfest on Livejournal. The theme this year is Media Remix, which invited participants to "remix" the story from a Book, Movie, or Television Show. The author/artist will be revealed at the end of the fest.
> 
> This was created for Prompt Number: M88  
> Original Work Name: Before Sunset
> 
> Disclaimer: All Harry Potter characters herein are the property of J.K. Rowling and Bloomsbury/Scholastic. No copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> Author's Notes: I was completely unfamiliar with this film, so hopefully a crash course from various sources allowed this fic to be at least vaguely similar. I set it in Florence rather than the location of the film(s) to make it just that much different. And it seemed a rather romantic place to set the beginnings of a lifelong love into motion. The original material was somewhat angst-ridden, and so is this, but since it's for Smoochfest I hope the ending is satisfactory. :D Much thanks to M for the speedy beta, since I wrote it somewhat quickly and threw it at her without warning.

**17 th August, 2000 **  
 **3:47 pm**  
  
Harry looked up from his menu as a shadow fell over the table. He gaped for a long moment at the person staring at him with an identical expression, and then the man moved and the sunlight blazed into Harry’s eyes, causing him to doubt he’d actually seen what he’d seen.  
  
“Malfoy!” he yelped and leapt to his feet, blinking rapidly against the bright spots dancing before his vision. The man he’d thought to be Draco Malfoy was already moving away at a steady pace, apparently intent on putting as much distance between himself and Harry as possible.  
  
Harry bounded through the opening in the iron railing and raced after him, glad that he hadn’t yet ordered. “Malfoy!” he called again.  
  
The man’s shoulders seemed to slump as his walk slowed. Without turning, he halted and waited for Harry to catch up. “Potter,” he said when Harry reached him. Harry stared at him with conflicting emotions. Harry hadn’t seen Malfoy in over three years and now to randomly encounter him in Florence, Italy was…bizarre.  
  
And Malfoy had changed.  
  
“Hi. I…um, thought it was you. And you looked at me like I was a ghost.”  
  
“I thought you were for a moment. Or a figment. A nightmare.”  The last word was added quickly, as though having a civil talk without insult would have shaken the foundations of the world more than a chance meeting.  
  
Harry grinned. “Right.” He waited to feel some of the old animosity that Draco Malfoy had always been able to produce, but at the moment there was nothing but a strange joy at seeing a familiar face.  
  
“Well, it’s been interesting seeing you again, Potter. Have a nice life, etcetera. Carry on.” With that, Malfoy turned and started away again.  
  
Harry fell into step beside him and watched him covertly. Malfoy’s lips thinned and he stared straight ahead, possibly determined to ignore Harry. “Wait. Would you like to get a drink or something? A meal? You were at the café. I didn’t mean to scare you off.”  
  
Malfoy halted again and gifted Harry with a scathing glare. “You did not  _scare_  me off.”  
  
“Brilliant! Then come have a drink with me. My treat.”  
  
Malfoy’s eyes narrowed. “You dislike me.”  
  
Three years ago, those words would have been true, but lately Harry had been wondering if he knew anything about anything, especially in regards to how he felt about just about everyone ever. “I don’t even know you, Malfoy, and I’m tired of trying to speak Italian. Come and sit down. I’ll even let you insult me.”  
  
“That desperate for company, are you?”  
  
Harry nodded with a smile and Malfoy seemed to soften. He sighed heavily. “Fine. One drink. And then I disappear and you will forget you ever saw me.”  
  
“Deal.”  
  
^*^  
  
Malfoy looked good. Actually, he looked better than good. His hair was longer and fell over his brow in a soft wave. The strands were so pale as to appear nearly white, likely bleached by the sun, considering the healthy, not-quite-tanned colour of his skin. It was obvious he spent at least a little time outside, and his body was a marvel, from what Harry could see of it. He wore crisp, white linen trousers and a casual white button-down with a minimal collar. Two buttons were open at his throat to expose a dark bit of braided leather, worn around his neck. A small silver medallion dangled there.  
  
Malfoy didn’t seem interested in Harry. He kept his attention fixed on the city beyond the iron railing. The whole valley was visible from their vantage. Harry ordered a bottle of Prosecco and the waiter brought them two glasses.  
  
“What are you doing here, Potter?”  
  
Harry nearly lied and said it was a holiday, but he decided Malfoy wouldn’t care one way or another. “Auror business. It’s done, a little bit early. My Portkey leaves in the morning.”  
  
“So you went the expected route and joined the Aurors. Colour me not surprised.”  
  
“Yeah.” Harry took a drink and grimaced. He hadn’t done much of anything surprising in the past three years. “How about you?”  
  
“Visiting some distant relative. Or my parents are. I escaped, at least for the afternoon.”  
  
“This looks like a good place to escape to.” Harry’s gaze swept over the rooftops, beautiful and somewhat quaint in the bright afternoon sunlight. It was brutally warm in the city, but the café sat on a hillside and enjoyed the benefit of a light breeze.  
  
“Indeed.” Malfoy sipped at his drink. His fingers were long and perfectly manicured. Harry wondered if he was satisfied with his life.  
  
“Are you bored?”  
  
Malfoy looked at him, obviously surprised at the question, which Harry hadn’t meant to blurt aloud. “I don’t know, Potter. Do I seem bored?”  
  
“Yeah, but I don’t think you’re bored with me. I just got here.”  
  
A ghost of a smile curved the corner of Malfoy’s lips. “You are the most interesting thing that’s happened to me all day, although I have to admit that isn’t saying much.”  
  
Harry grinned. “Do you want to come sightseeing with me? I promise I’ll try not to be boring.”  
  
“Are you that desperate for company?”  
  
“Merlin, yes! I feel like an idiot wandering around alone. I don’t know a single soul and my Italian is horrendous. I’m pretty sure I ordered lamb skin and tree bark for breakfast this morning. Luckily, the restaurant matron took pity on me and brought me actual food.”  
  
"Well, I would hate to see you grovel."  
  
Harry snorted. "I'll bet you would. Where do you want to go? I'll let you lead."  
  
"You really are desperate. Let's finish this and we'll take a walk." He lifted his glass and Harry hid a pleased smile behind his own drink.  
  
^*^  
The walk down from the café was pleasant enough. They could have taken a Muggle cab, but Harry didn't think that Draco's willingness to rub elbows with Muggles would extend as far as riding in something with a combustion engine.  
  
"So, did you marry the Weaselette?"  
  
Harry had expected the question, and the accompanying derision, so he shrugged off the insult to Ginny. "Not yet. Part of this trip is for me to, I dunno, figure things out. Decide what I want."  
  
"Do not tell me you are having cold feet, Potter!"  
  
"No." Harry paused, and then admitted, "Maybe."  
  
"It is a large step, marriage. I should know."  
  
"What?  _You're_  married?"  
  
Malfoy snorted. "Not yet. But I will be, soon enough. Sooner than that if my father has his way."  
  
"Who to?"  
  
"It is  _to whom_ , Potter. And her name is Astoria Greengrass."  
  
Harry frowned, trying to remember her from school. He drew a blank, although he vaguely remembered a Greengrass Slytherin girl they had called Queenie.  
  
"Um…congratulations?"  
  
"That is what they will say, yes."  
  
It was a strange comment, but Harry realized they would say precisely the same thing when he and Ginny married. For some reason, the thought was depressing.  
  
 **4:57 pm**  
  
They leaned over the stone railing and looked down into the river. The current was sluggish and the river looked tired and muddy, like most rivers. Harry wondered how many pairs of eyes had stared down at that same river over the decades past, and thought about how many of them worried over their own futures.  
  
"Why the doubts, Potter?  Everyone has always known you would marry and join the ranks of the Weasleys. Or have you met someone else?"  
  
"No. There is no one else. I just don't know if I'm ready to be married. I want a family, of course, but the whole 'settling down' thing... It all seems so planned out, so predictable."  
  
"Craving excitement already? Do you miss--?" Malfoy seemed on the verge of saying something vicious and Harry braced himself, but then Malfoy shook his head and sighed heavily. Harry looked surreptitiously at his profile. Malfoy was bloody handsome, had grown even more so since Hogwarts.  
  
"Not really. Just craving…not bromidic."  
  
"Bromidic?" Malfoy's brows rose and Harry chuckled.  
  
"I know what it means!"  
  
"I would be more impressed if I didn't suspect that you had learned it from studying the Word of the Day in the Daily Prophet."  
  
Harry snorted and did not dignify that with a response, although Malfoy had been correct.  Shall we walk to the Basilica?"  
  
Malfoy shrugged. "Why not?"  
  
 **5:28 pm**  
  
The Basilica of Santa Croce was an impressive structure, although after viewing Hogwarts, Harry had difficulty finding more than a passing appreciation for other stone edifices.  
  
Malfoy stood with his hands on his hips in the central piazza before the church and said dryly, "My, what stunning architecture." He lifted a hand and covered an overly obvious yawn.  
  
Harry smacked him on the bicep with the back of his hand. "It's nice!"  
  
"How dare you touch my person, Potter." The words had no force, and seemed more of a continuation of his bored observation. "It isn't nice. It's dull. It's all white and…symmetrical."  
  
"Most people find symmetry to be aesthetically pleasing."  
  
"Oh, listen to Harry Potter, using words like  _bromidic_  and  _aesthetically_." The statement sounded more like the old Malfoy than anything he'd said previously and Harry gave him a sidelong stare.  
  
"Are you one of those people that get cranky when they're hungry?"  
  
Malfoy turned a chilly stare on him. "Malfoys do not become  _cranky_."  
  
Harry nodded. "That settles it. Let's go find some food."  
  
 **6:04 pm**  
  
Draco followed Potter as he wended his apparently random way towards a dining establishment. There were dozens, if not hundreds, of tiny restaurants in Florence, so there wasn't much chance of Potter missing them all.  
  
"That one!" he said after a moment and pointed to a quaint-looking doorway with a cluster of hanging plants and a rickety sign that seemed to have been painted during the middle ages. As they neared, delicious smells emanated from the place and Draco acknowledged that at least Potter's nose worked.  
  
Soon they were seated at a tiny table with a large man gushing over them, exaggerating the quality of his ingredients and raving about his menu.  
  
Draco ordered a bottle of expensive wine, a Florentine beef steak, gnocchi, ribollita soup, and walnut and honey cakes. Potter said nothing, although Draco suspected he might have something to say when the cheque arrived.  
  
Candles were lit whilst they munched on antipasto, and Draco noticed the way Potter's hair gleamed where the light touched it. For all that it looked a wreck, Draco suspected it would be soft to the touch.  
  
He was yet surprised to see Potter. In Florence, nearly the ends of the earth from cold London. Stranger still, the distance seemed to have softened the animosity they had carried with them for seven long years, or perhaps Draco had merely grown up. The trivialities and harsh sting of their rivalry seemed far away, and Potter's easy smile and warm voice carried the promise of a new beginning, or perhaps merely a different ending.  
  
"This is excellent," Potter said as he crunched into a bit of bread topped with prosciutto and a sprig of fresh rosemary. Draco had drizzled olive oil over it all. "I'm starving."  
  
Draco drank his wine, ate, and watched Potter. The place filled up quickly, making conversation difficult. Italian words danced around them, impossible to understand without concentration. Draco didn't bother. He was focussed on Potter, and the way he held his fork (loosely, balanced mostly on his middle finger), and the careful way he cleaned his plate (sopping up every bit of soup with the remaining bread), and the way his bright green eyes touched on everyone and everything in the room (scanning, filing, and missing nothing, despite his relaxed attitude).  
  
It occurred to Draco that Potter was an Auror, always alert for danger. For some reason, the knowledge made Draco feel warm, as though Potter could spring into action at any moment. Draco imagined him leaping to his feet, muscles lengthening and contracting, wand snapping out at the ready, and thighs rippling.  
  
Draco took a gulp of his wine and asked about Potter's life in London, hoping to be lulled into boredom by Potter's words. It didn't work.  
  
*^^*^^*  
  
Harry wrinkled his nose. "Merlin, I don't want to talk about that. I'm in Italy, eating amazing food, enjoying the sights, and having dinner with--" Harry broke off and looked critically at his wine glass. Perhaps he'd had a bit too much to drink; he had nearly proclaimed Draco Malfoy to be "a handsome bloke", which he absolutely was, but he might have found it rather odd for Harry to be extolling his virtues. "Having dinner with an old friend," he amended. "We don't have to be enemies now, do we?"  
  
Malfoy was looking at him in such amazement that Harry wondered if he'd accidentally slipped and spilled out the "handsome bloke" thing, but then Malfoy shook his head. "Honestly, Potter, you want to be  _friends_  after--" he cast a wandless Tempus Charm under the table and cocked his head to look at it, "a couple of hours of sightseeing and talking about nothing? No more wine for you."  
"Oh, come on, Malfoy. We're bigger than that. We can be friends if we like. No one is here to stop us."  
Malfoy glared at him, for a moment looking as though he wanted to storm out, or rail at him for all of the things that had come between them in the past, but then he looked down at the table and seemed to release a tense breath. He lifted his nearly-empty glass. "I suppose you're right. We can be  _friends_  in Florence."  
  
"To Florence," Harry said and lifted his own glass.  
  
"You're still an idiot," Malfoy replied, but he tapped his glass against Harry's and they both drank. Harry considered it a victory.  
  
The restaurant had grown crowded and stuffy, despite the ceiling fans working hard to move the air. Harry paid for their dinner with Muggle money whilst Malfoy escaped outside. Harry found him leaning against the wall a few metres away, wrinkling his nose at a young man who zoomed by on a motor scooter. A rental shop sat across the way, advertising for customers with bright, graphic signs.  
  
"Come on," Harry said and headed over. Night was falling, but if they hurried, they might catch the last vestiges of sunset.  
  
 **8:15 pm**  
  
"No, Potter. No, no, no. You will not get me on one of those noisy, strange things."  
  
"Oh come on! It's a scooter! It's like a…a broom with wheels."  
  
"Brooms do not need wheels, nor do they make such noise."  
  
"Yes, but we can't very well hire brooms to fly over Florence, now can we?"  
  
"Well, we  _should_  be able to. Stupid Muggles!"  
  
Harry laughed aloud at Malfoy's petulant tone. "I'll make it worth your while."  
  
"How?"  
  
"I'll think of something. Trust me." Harry ignored Malfoy long enough to haggle with the man running the shop, and soon Harry was stood before a bright red Vespa holding two garishly bright helmets.  
  
"What is that?" Malfoy asked, pointing at the helmets.  
  
"Head protection. In case we crash."  
  
Malfoy turned and walked away. Harry jogged after him, laughing. "We are not going to crash! I ride a motorcycle frequently at home and these are much easier to control. In fact, you don't have to wear the helmet, okay? We can't have it crushing your gorgeous hair, although the wind might do it worse damage."  
  
Malfoy stopped and looked at him, seeming mollified by the compliment. "Where are we going?"  
  
"The Piazzale Michelangelo. It's too far to walk and I want to see the sunset."  
  
Malfoy heaved a massive sigh, but followed Harry back to the scooter. There was some awkwardness as Malfoy sat down behind Harry and then tried to determine a way to hold on without actually touching him. All the while, the shop clerk was babbling instructions in Italian whilst Harry tried to nod and assure him that yes, he did know the controls and they would be perfectly fine. Malfoy even allowed the Muggle to help him with the helmet, although he squeaked in protest and Harry had to grab his wrist to make sure he wouldn't hex the man.  
  
At long last, helmeted, seated, and with the lightest possible grip of Malfoy's hands on Harry's hips, they set off. Traffic was terrible, even on a Thursday evening, so it wasn't long before Malfoy settled in against Harry's back and tightened his hold to deathlike proportions.  
  
"We are going to die!" Malfoy yelled when Harry slammed on the brakes to avoid a taxicab that shot from a tiny street in front of them. The driver cursed them and shook his fist out the window, as though it were Harry's fault they had nearly been run down.  
  
The drive became easier once they reached the Viale Giuseppe Poggi. There was a slow line of traffic before them, but all were heading for the same destination, so it didn't take long to reach the asphalt parking lot. Harry parked next to a long line of similar scooters, hoping he could remember which was theirs.  
  
Malfoy leapt away from him and wrenched off the helmet. "That was horrifying."  
  
Harry scoffed and strapped the helmets to the bike, and then added a surreptitious charm to discourage theft. "It wasn't that bad. And look, the lights are all up in the city and the sun is setting."  
  
"The sun has set."  
  
It was true, but the sky still had a brilliant purplish tint, and a sliver of gold edged the tops of the hills. "Let's go look at David."  
  
*^^*^^*  
  
Draco followed Potter into the milling crowd that stood near the replica of David, the famous carving by Michelangelo. He used his fingers to comb the hair out of his face and tried to fluff it back into its usual style. Potter had called it  _gorgeous_ , even though he had possibly been going for sarcasm.  
  
Draco had been reluctantly impressed with Potter's ability to manoeuvre the Muggle scooter through traffic. And although he wouldn't admit it under torture, he had not at all minded the feel of Potter's thighs against his, and the fact that Potter's arse was a thing of beauty when nestled into the V of his crotch.  
  
A sound from Potter drew Draco's attention away from his dangerous thoughts, and Draco found him staring up at the statue with something akin to awe. "Wow. It is beautiful, isn't it? What was it that Michelangelo had said? Or at least it was attributed to him, I think. That he could see the angel in the marble, and carved until he had set him free."  
  
Draco cocked his head and looked up at the statue. It was stunning, he had to admit. His eyes travelled up the smooth calves, perfect thighs, and skimmed over the groin in nervous embarrassment before admiring the exquisite abdomen and erect nipples. David stared out over the city, his expression serious and intent, as if frozen in time having just stepped from the bath, his attention arrested permanently by something just out of view.  
  
"Beautiful," Potter said, gazing up at the statue with rapt attention.  
  
Draco blinked at him, feeling a sudden jolt of recognition. "Potter! Your cold feet! You are having a sexual identity crisis!"  
  
Potter's stare swivelled to fix on him with more intensity than that expressed by David. He stormed past Draco and growled, "Louder, Malfoy, I don't think they heard you back in London." He stalked though the crowd, some of whom had tittered at Draco's words, and did not stop until he reached the decorative wall that separated the Piazzale from the steep hillside below.  
  
"I am not having a sexual identity crisis," Potter said when Draco joined him. Potter's forearms rested on the stone railing and he looked out over the city. The view was brilliant.  
  
"All right," Draco replied. Silence stretched between them and they both looked over the gleaming lights, lost in their own thoughts. Draco gnawed at his lower lip. He felt a bit tipsy from the wine he'd consumed, and somewhat reckless at the knowledge that his parents would be wondering about him. It was likely his father would send out some underling to fetch him, although they would have a merry time trying to locate him. Giving in to impulse, Draco said, "I never had a crisis. I always knew."  
  
Potter looked at him. "Knew what?"  
  
Draco shrugged. "That I preferred cock."  
  
If the railing hadn't held him, it was likely Potter would have fallen over. Draco laughed at his expression.  
  
"Merlin, Potter, your face. How could you not know? I've been told it's obvious."  
  
"You're-- You're gay?"  
  
"Homosexual, yes." Draco said it quietly, with a glance at the other tourists, all of whom seemed lost in their own admiration of the view. He moved closer to Potter, knowing Muggles had an even worse outlook on males preferring males than most wizards.  
  
"But…but Astoria Greengrass! And Pansy Parkinson!"  
  
Draco nodded. "Pansy always knew, of course. It amused her to role-play as my girlfriend. I think she secretly enjoyed the power she possessed, not only knowing that she kept unwanted female attention from me, but also shackled any attempts by boys to get into my pants. Everyone in school thought I was straight, and taken." He shrugged. "I've always known my role, regardless. I shall marry and carry on the Malfoy name." The last was recited with a twist of bitterness that he couldn't hide.  
  
"You're going to marry a woman, even though…?"  
  
"Isn't that what you're going to do?"  
  
Potter flushed and looked away. "I have been--I  _am_ \--attracted to girls. But…" His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. "But maybe boys, too. I haven't ever had the chance to explore that, to be sure. Maybe I'm just afraid and looking for excuses."  
  
Draco copied Potter's pose, leaning on the railing and looking at the bell tower in the distance. After a moment, he chuckled, and Potter glanced at him curiously. "Just thinking of the articles in the  _Daily Prophet_  should you come out as a shirt-lifter."  
  
Potter groaned and dropped his head. "Merlin, they print the stupidest shite already. Why anyone would give a damn what I eat for breakfast is beyond my comprehension."  
  
"You're a celebrity, Potter. Surely you enjoy that?" Draco nudged him with his shoulder.  
  
Potter straightened with a jerk and glared at him. "You really don't get it, do you? The massive invasion of privacy, the speculation, the rumours, the fact that I can't walk  _anywhere_  without being mobbed for photos, the Howlers I get because I disparaged a certain Quidditch team in passing, the constant and continuous--" Potter drew in a harsh breath and his eyes widened. He looked away, seeming ashamed of his outburst. Draco felt a twinge of pity. He had never really considered what Potter's life would be like, constantly in the limelight without a moment of peace. No wonder he seemed to be enjoying his anonymity in Florence.  
  
"We should go," Potter said. "Can I drop you somewhere?"  
  
And just like that, it was over. Except that Draco didn't want it to be over. He wanted the Potter in the restaurant back again. His  _friend_ , the only that had laughed and caught Draco's wrist before he could hex the scooter man. The Potter who looked at Draco as though he were worthy of friendship.  
  
"You still owe me, Potter."  
  
"What?"  
  
"You said that you would make riding on that Muggle contraption  _worth my while_. Well, I have not felt that worth. I want gelato."  
  
"You… Gelato?" Potter scrubbed a hand through his hair and Draco nearly smiled, because the amused light was back in Potter's eyes and the tense anger began to ease from his stance.  
  
"You know what gelato is, yes?"  
  
Potter nodded and grinned. "Ice cream. I don't know how you can think of food after that meal, but fine. I will buy you some gelato."  
  
They walked back to the scooter and Draco did not even protest when Potter handed him the helmet. He simply buckled it on and seated himself on the Vespa.  
  
 **8:51pm**  
  
Malfoy's revelation was swirling through Harry's head as he navigated the narrow street back down the hillside. He remembered seeing a gelato shop on their earlier walk, so he headed there. Malfoy's grip on his hips seemed more relaxed this time, and his chest was a comforting pressure against his back.  
  
Harry tried not to think about Malfoy's groin, nestled tightly against Harry's buttocks. And yet, he couldn't help but wonder what sort of cock Malfoy possessed. Was it long, slender, thick, curved? He groaned aloud, thankful that the hum of the Vespa motor concealed the sound.  
  
Malfoy was gay.  
  
They had to ride past the gelato shop and park some distance away before walking back. The shop was crowded due to the warm night and the glut of tourists, but that gave them more time to peruse the massive number of flavours available.  
  
"What are you thinking about?" Harry asked.  
  
"Hmm, chocolate."  
  
Harry snorted. "Honestly, with all the exotic things to choose from, you're going for chocolate? Live a little, Malfoy. Look there, guava. Acai. Mascarpone and fig. Pistachio."  
  
"I hate pistachios. I like chocolate."  
  
"Fine, then have chocolate and something else with it."  
  
Malfoy rolled his eyes, but when the time came he ordered a scoop of chocolate and one of cheesecake, so Harry went traditional with vanilla bean and a second scoop of the mascarpone and fig. It was tasty, but unusual, and he preferred the familiarity of the vanilla.  
  
They walked back towards the scooter as they licked at their cones, and then Harry spotted a stone bench half-concealed by overgrown bushes, with a lovely view of the river. He gestured to it and Malfoy followed.  
  
They ate in silence, sitting near enough that their knees touched. Harry wanted to ask a dozen questions, but he wasn't certain how.  
  
"Would you like to taste the chocolate, Potter?"  
  
"Sure."  
  
He turned his head, expecting Malfoy to lift the cone, but instead he found cool lips pressed against his, tasting of chocolate and cheesecake. His eyes opened in surprise, but Malfoy did not pull away, so after a few frantic heartbeats, Harry allowed his lips to open. Malfoy's tongue pushed inside, and the kiss deepened. Harry felt something cold against his fingers and jerked away to find his cone tipping dangerously.  
  
"Um." The incoherent sound was all that he could manage as his cheeks flooded with heat.  
  
Malfoy chuckled. "You said you were bi-curious. And you're leaving tomorrow. That doesn't leave you much time for exploration."  
  
Harry's heart hammered in his chest. Was Malfoy willing to assist him with that exploration? He was terrified to ask. But the kiss had been brilliant. He licked at the ice cream melting down over his fingers and then glanced at Malfoy.  
  
"Would you like to try the vanilla?" he asked, throwing caution to the wind.  
  
The cones ended up on the ground, forgotten and melting, as another kiss became a dozen, and the sky grew dark around them.  
  
 **9:28 pm**  
  
Draco was drowning. The kiss had been impulsive, reckless, and possibly very stupid, but Potter had responded  with growing eagerness, and then flirtation. It was unbelievable. He wondered if perhaps he'd fallen and knocked his head against the stone wall somewhere, and was now dreaming that he was here, with Harry Potter, kissing madly and with hands beginning to wander into all the right places.  
  
Potter's palm was on Draco's thigh, so near to Draco's hard cock that he wanted nothing more than to press Potter's fingers there and rut against him, uncaring of anyone that might walk past.  
  
As if called by the thought, footsteps and low voices sounded and Potter pulled away as if burned, but he caught Draco's wrist with a gentle squeeze. Their eyes locked and Draco could read nothing there but burning intensity. If Potter had any regrets, they had been shelved beneath an avalanche of desire.  
  
"I have a hotel room," Potter said in a voice so hoarse it was barely recognisable.  
  
Draco's pulse leapt and he felt a bolt of pure panic.  _Hotel room_  was a far larger risk than mere kissing. How far was Draco willing to go? Potter looked like a wild creature, full of leashed power and untapped energy. He would be gone tomorrow, and both of them would return to their predictable, perfectly planned lives. Draco would be stupid not to take this one chance, to have at least one thing that was solely his. He nodded.  
  
Potter took his hand and they walked back to the scooter. Draco wrapped his arms around Potter's waist and held tightly as they wove through traffic and cut through side streets until they reached a large hotel that was more upscale than Draco had expected.  
  
Potter led the way past the concierge entered the lift. And older couple smiled at them, conversing in a lyrical language that Draco could not identify. Potter exited before them and walked down a short hallway to a wooden door that opened with a square of plastic pressed into a metal box.  
  
The room was small, but nice, with a patterned wooden floor and cream-coloured walls. The bedding and curtains were white, and all of the curtains had been opened to expose views of the city around them. The temperature was cool, thanks to a machine blowing cold air from beneath the window. One lamp next to the bed had been left on, and it cast a soft glow over everything in the room.  
  
Potter tossed the plastic key on a nearby table and emptied his pockets next to it, placing his wand last. He seemed awkward and uncertain now that they were alone. Draco felt the same, but he pushed his nervousness aside and walked over to slide an arm around Potter's waist.  
  
Potter sighed and turned to meet Draco's kiss. Within moments, they had found their rhythm once more, with tongue meeting tongue, and hands grasping and pulling one another closer.  
  
"Clothes," Potter said and Draco heartily agreed. He pulled at Potter's t-shirt, wrestling it up and over Potter's head, taking his glasses along for the ride. They banged on the ground, causing them both to jump.  
  
"Sorry," Draco said and Potter knelt down to pick them up. He set them on the table, but didn't rise, instead remaining on one knee and touching Draco's ankle. Draco braced one hand on Potter's head and allowed Potter to slip off his shoes. They were Italian loafers, so they came off easily. Potter toed off his trainers as he rose, and kicked them beneath the table. His fingers moved to the buttons on Draco's shirt, and Draco worked on the cuffs whilst Potter unbuttoned the front.  
  
His gaze slid over Potter's chest; it was hairier than Draco had expected, and he found that he wanted to put his hands in it, to tug at it and watch Potter wince. Potter's nipples were dark and perfectly shaped, rather like the statue of David they had left behind. His abdomen was similar, also, sculpted and without an ounce of extra flesh.  
  
When Draco was freed of the shirt, Potter made a soft sound and Draco met his eyes in surprise. He'd forgotten.  
  
Potter's fingers traced the old scar. Draco hooked his fingers into the waistband of Potter's jeans and pulled him in for a kiss. "Never mind, Potter. No past, remember, just right now."  
  
"Right now," repeated Potter and they kissed until the steady pressure of their cocks, straining against each other, gave them other ideas. The moved apart at the same time, fingers tearing at zippers and buttons. Trousers and jeans slid to the floor and were kicked aside, quickly followed by pants and socks. Draco blushed, feeling exposed, but the need to touch Potter overcame his nervousness. They kissed again, and it was so much better with the warm feel of skin against skin. Their cocks brushed, pressed, and finally rutted together with growing eagerness.  
  
Without spoken word, they both moved to the bed and fell on it, grasping and groping at one another. Potter's cock felt solid in Draco's hand; it was thick and of decent size, confirming everything that Draco had ever known. He wanted to taste it, and feel it penetrating his most private places.  
  
"Draco. Oh." And then Potter found his cock, also, and gave it a tentative squeeze. Draco felt his eyes roll nearly back into his head at the pleasure of it, especially after Potter gave it an experimental tug.  
  
They stroked one another for long minutes, breath hitching through sporadic kisses. Draco didn't want to climax with a handjob, but he couldn't seem to stop. Potter felt amazing.  
  
"I need to taste you," Potter said suddenly and Draco was pushed onto his back before he could quite register that Potter had moved. And then Potter was between his legs and his mouth-- _hot, brilliant, perfect_ \--was taking in Draco's cock. Draco curled one hand in the white bedding and one hand in Potter's hair, which was as soft and thick as expected.  
  
Potter's tongue explored Draco's cock, flicking and licking and curling with such exquisite thoroughness that Draco might have considered him a liar; surely he had done this before? But Potter's occasional quirk of an eyebrow and questioning glances made the suggestion a lie. He was simply Potter, naturally good at everything.  
  
Draco's thighs began to shake and he had to pull Potter up by his hair. "Wait. Not yet. I want this to last. I want to try--" He shoved at Potter, who obediently rolled over and waited for Draco to complete his thought. Instead of speaking, Draco took in Potter's cock, mimicking the techniques Potter had tried.  
  
Unlike Draco's near-silent gasping, Potter was vocal, cursing and calling out Draco's name, muttering near-mindless chants that sounded like worship to Draco's ears, and spurring him to greater depths and more ambitious actions. He even pulled off and took one of Potter's testicles into his mouth, chuckling when Potter nearly arched away from the bed.  
  
"Draco, stop! Merlin, your mouth is fucking brilliant."  
  
Draco went back to kissing him, willing to let their libido ease off. He wanted more, although he wasn't completely certain how to go about it. "Do you have lube?"  
  
"Yeah, somewhere.  _Accio_  lube!" Draco might have been impressed with Potter's wandless magic if he hadn't been so glad to see the small bottle in his hand.  
  
"How do you want to do this?"  
  
"I don't much care. If you can stay the night, maybe we can do both? I want to do everything. Everything I can."  
  
Draco nodded in agreement. And in the end, they did.  
  
 **6:09 am**  
  
Water sluiced down over his face and Harry turned into the spray. He felt a strange mixture of elation and dread. Not regret, though, never that. Draco had been bloody amazing, alternately tender and adventurous. Harry had breached him first, pressing his cock into Draco's tight heat, and marvelling at the incredible sensations.  
  
Draco had laughed through obvious pain, and muttered, "My father would cast a Killing Curse on me right now if he could see this. He wouldn't even hesitate."  
  
The thought had horrified Harry, and he'd been as gentle as possible, kissing Draco until neither of them could breathe, and then fucking him until they had both come. They had lain together quietly then, wrapped around one another and drawing nonsense patterns over sweat-slicked skin.  
  
And later still, awakening from a light doze, Harry had prepared himself and let Draco do the same, fighting through the intrusive pain until pleasure had finally broken through the last of his reserve. It had been a sobering experience, and rather earth-shattering, to see Draco Malfoy above him, rocking with focussed intensity, hair mussed and muscles tensed, teeth biting into kiss-reddened lips. Harry had never seen anything quite so amazing, and for a moment it had seemed that Michelangelo's angel had been set free and come to life, pale and magical, but so very real.  
  
The curtain moved aside and Harry looked over his shoulder to see his angel, rumpled and uncertain-looking, with dark circles under his eyes. Harry moved aside to allow him in, and pulled him into a hungry kiss. He felt both joy and sadness as he soaped Draco's skin and built a castle of suds in his hair before rinsing him with soft strokes, and later they tugged each other to mutual climax, gasping and shuddering against one another.  
  
Later, wrapped in a towel, Harry dripped onto the mangled bedclothes and watched as Draco pulled on his white trousers.  
  
"I don't want to go back," Harry whispered. "I want to stay here forever."  _With you_  remained unspoken.  
  
"Don't be silly, Potter. You'll go back and marry the ginger--you'll go back and marry  _her_ , and I will be an obedient son and tie myself to the Greengrass fortune and sire a child--" He shuddered. Despite his flippant tone, there was darkness beneath his words and Harry instinctively knew that he felt the same. "God willing, no more than one, however."  
  
Harry got up and held him, suddenly fiercely resistant to the futures placed before them. "Draco. Let's give it six months. If, in six months' time, neither of us can stand to go through with it, then we meet here, in this room. And then we decide from there. Promise me."  
  
Their eyes met and locked, and then Draco nodded. He paused in the doorway. "See you in six months, Potter," he said, and then he was gone.  
  
 **NINE YEARS LATER**  
  
 **14 th September, 2009 **  
 **10:27 am**  
  
Harry sat at the small table and looked out over the city, trying to spot minute changes, but it all looked the same as it had nearly a decade ago. He sighed and pushed away his glass, thinking that he never should have returned. Despite the years between, it seemed only yesterday and everything reminded him of Draco.  
  
He walked to the tiny Fiat and slipped into the driver's seat. The urge to rent a scooter had been overwhelmed with nostalgia and in the end, he simply hadn't been able to do it. The car held no memories, and he joined the queue trundling down the hill into the city. He had an appointment at 11:00 and although he had driven past the shop, he wasn't completely sure if parking would be an issue.  
  
Twenty-five minutes later, with the Fiat safely squeezed into a parking spot and a selection of coins shoved into the metre, Harry walked quickly to the tiny bookshop sandwiched between two similar-looking grey-ish tan buildings with nondescript signs and large, decorative wooden doors. The wizarding section of Florence was tiny and Harry had barely visited it during his precious visits to the city. He was familiar with the International Portkey office, which had issued his return Portkeys on each occasion and given him the usual safe travel advice, as though he'd never heard it before.  
  
He pushed open the door and saw a small row of people lined up near the counter. A large woman walked out from the shelves of books and clasped his hand in both of hers. "Mister Black, how nice to finally meet you! I see some of your fans have already arrived." She beamed at him and he noticed that her accent wasn't Italian, but was rather more Eastern, Bulgarian, perhaps.  
  
Harry glanced at the queue of people, some of whom clapped. All of them smiled and he felt something loosen between his shoulders. He never knew what sort of reception he would find, and here, in Florence, well… This is where it had begun, after all.  
  
He didn't have much time to reflect after that. The matron seated him at a small table and then each person in line walked up with something clasped in their hands for him to sign. Usually it was a copy of his book, but sometimes they had photos or even clippings from newspapers. The first person in line was a blond man who grinned at him and placed the book before him gently.  
  
"Circe, I can't believe I'm actually meeting you. You're a legend."  
  
Harry smiled. "Not much of a legend, I'm afraid. I'm just a man that has lived a rather unusual life."  
  
"But you lived it. You lived it all, like the book says, and that's what I plan to do. You're an inspiration, Mister Potter--I mean, Mister Black."  
  
Harry scrawled his name across the inside cover of the book, still somewhat in awe at the swift change his life had during the past year, ever since he'd been foolish enough to sit down and write his story. He still wasn't sure why he'd done it. He'd written about everything, his childhood, the war, his friends…and Draco. He had changed Draco's name, of course, because he had no idea how that would have gone over. He hadn't seen or heard from Draco in years, of course. Ever since…  
  
The bell jangled as the door opened and Harry's hand froze over the inkwell. He could have been hit with a Full-body Bind for as strongly as his ability to move deserted him.  
  
"Mister Black, are you all right?"  
  
The spell was broken and Harry looked away, glanced at the young woman standing before him with a concerned look on her face. "Yes. Yes, I'm sorry. I just thought--" He glanced at the doorway again, but the man had gone. A ghost. "I think I would like a short break." He signed the last two items before him and made quick small-talk before rising and hurrying towards the door. He pushed through and drank in the air, certain he had been mistaken. His eyes scanned the street in both directions, and then fixed upon a man leaning against a doorframe two shops down.  
  
With his heart in his throat, Harry walked to stand before him.  
  
"Impressive," Draco said. He held something long and narrow in his fingers. Harry reached out and took it, although his eyes could see nothing but Draco. He was older, of course, but even more beautiful, if such a thing were even possible. His hair was shorter, with small tufts overhanging his brow, but the sides nearly shorn. It looked odd when juxtaposed with Harry's memory, but not bad, just different.  
  
Harry had no idea what to say. He'd rehearsed such a conversation a thousand times in his fantasies, with every variation from indifference to hurt anger. The reality of the situation made the breath seize up in his lungs, and his fingers shook on the bookmark in his hands.  
  
"A famous author now. James Black. Curious choice of pseudonym."  
  
Harry met the grey eyes directly. He wanted to drown in them. "Can we talk?"  
  
"I expect so."  
  
It was a relief. He had half-expected Draco to disappear from his life, never to be seen again. "I need to get back. I have another few minutes. Scheduled."  
  
"I will be at Bella's. Just round the corner."  
  
"All right." Reluctantly, Harry handed back the bookmark and then hurried back to the shop, not daring to look back, in case he'd gone utterly mad and Draco was only a figment of his imagination.  
  
He signed the last few books, gave his thanks to the bookshop matron, and then walked as quickly as possible to Bella's, which turned out to be a small coffee shop. To his immense relief, Draco was seated at a round table with a large mug in his hands.  
  
Harry took the seat across from him and Draco pushed another mug towards him. "I ordered you a cappuccino."  
  
"Thank you." Harry touched the cup, but he couldn't stop looking at Draco. There were lines on his face that hadn't been there before, but much of him was still the same. The golden eyebrows, the dark lashes that framed his pale eyes, the sardonic lips that Harry had dreamed about for years without end… He took a drink of his coffee and found it lukewarm, but strong.  
  
"You look good," Draco said.  
  
Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so he murmured, "Thanks." They said little more until the coffee was half gone, and then Harry set him cup down. "Can we walk?"  
  
Draco nodded and Harry nearly bolted through the door. He felt full of nervous energy, with so much bottled up inside that needed to burst forth. He wanted to rail at Draco. He wanted to rage and demand answers. He wanted to throw himself into his arms and hold tightly.  
  
Instead, he walked.  
  
His footsteps carried him to the river, dodging traffic and pedestrians, always fully aware that Draco kept pace with him, saying nothing. At last they reached a spot where the pavement widened into a semi-circle that overlooked the river. Large trees provided some shade from the bright sun. Harry was shaking; he shouldn't have had the cappuccino.  
  
"I came back, you know. Six months later." Harry tried to keep his voice steady.  
  
"I know. I read the book."  
  
"You weren't here."  
  
"No."  
  
"I assumed you had chosen Astoria. I read about your wedding. That Christmas."  
  
"I hadn't."  
Harry looked at him. "You hadn't?"  
  
"I hadn't chosen Astoria. But it wasn't up to me, you see." Draco drew a deep breath and leaned his hands on the stone railing. The sunlight through the leaves dappled his hair, and Harry mourned the longer length, just for a moment.  
  
"You felt that you had to. I understand."  
  
"No. I would have come. I would have been here, Harry. I had planned to give it all up. All of it. The Malfoy name, my family, the future they had laid out so carefully for me. I was ready to let all of it go. For you." Draco straightened and his eyes bored into Harry's. He was shaken by the strength of Draco's words and the sound of his given name, uttered for the first time.  
  
"Then why?"  
  
"I was stupid enough to tell my mother. I told her about you. Not by name, of course, but only that I'd met someone. I admitted that I had no desire to marry Astoria, or anyone, and I didn't care about the Malfoy legacy. I wanted to live my own life."  
  
Harry was stunned. He had gone through his own soul-searching at the time, and had spoken to no one but Hermione. She had encouraged him to follow his heart, and even then he had agonised over his decision, uncertain until the very morning he had Apparated in slow stages all the way to Tuscany, growing ever more sure with every leap, only to spend the rest of that terrible day and night waiting.  
  
Waiting for Draco, who had never arrived.  
  
"She panicked, and told my father. I am somewhat surprised that he did not Obliviate me straightaway, or put me under an Imperius Curse. He was liberal with the Cruciatus Curse, of course. He'd always been fond of that, dear Lucius." Draco wrinkled his nose and Harry clenched his hands, horrified. "It was my mother's doing, I believe, that led him to lock me away. I discovered that there are worse things than being tortured. There is a facility in Northern France that used to be a monastery. They have very strict rituals and diligent practices. They believe in starving, and flagellation, and wearing the thinnest robes in stark winter, and going about barefoot. They also believe that a man lying with another man is punishable by death, but can possibly be cured with the application of enough torment."  
  
Harry felt sick.  
  
Draco's voice continued on, monotonous. "So there I was, all of that horrible February. I lost track of time, at first thinking I could escape. I wanted to reach you. I wanted to send you a message. By the end, of course, I only wanted to survive. When they finally let me out, it was weeks past the time we were supposed to meet. By the time I could walk properly again, you were engaged to Ginny Weasley. And by then, I had no fight left. I married Astoria without protest. I fathered a son. I played the dutiful father and husband. And I tried to forget about you."  
  
Harry leaned heavily against the stone, clasping his hands together. "Oh god. If only I had known." Bloody hell, he hadn't even tried to find Draco. He hadn't even questioned whether or not Draco's choice had been taken from him. He hadn't even fucking remembered what a controlling, evil bastard that Lucius Malfoy-- "Oh my god, I just let it happen. I just moved on."  
  
Hands suddenly wrapped around his and squeezed tightly. Harry met Draco's eyes and found surprisingly little pain there. Instead, he saw peace.  
  
"Stop. Harry, you could not have known. And one good thing came of all of it. My son, Scorpius, is an utter delight. He is the best thing that ever happened to me."  
  
Harry shut his eyes, and nodded. "I…have three children."  
  
"I know."  
  
Harry drew in a shuddering breath and tugged Draco closer, needing to feel him. "They--I wrote the book under a pseudonym. Of course, it was obvious who it was, although at first it was assumed to be fiction, or an unauthorised biography. Ginny was furious. By then, we had been fighting almost daily. I don't know when it happened, but when she found out I'd written it she went bloody mental. She went to the papers. She went to the papers, can you believe that? And told them it was me. Of course, then all hell broke loose." Harry laughed dryly, still feeling the sting of that dark, miserable time, when he'd wished he'd never picked up a quill. And now, it paled to insignificance compared to what Draco had suffered.  
  
"And then she tried to reconcile. 'For the children' she said. And I tried, for a while. The book, meanwhile, became a raging success. Mostly because it was me, of course, but it also seemed to resonate with many people. Men--and some women--living lives they don't want because they were afraid to choose the path of most resistance. I don't know, they send me letters. They invite me to book signings and tell me I changed their lives. I suppose that makes it all worth it."  
  
"So you came back."  
  
"Yes. The happiest time of my life was here, in Florence. Ginny was against my coming here. Merlin, we fought about it. I have a counselling session scheduled for tomorrow afternoon. She says if I am not there, she will march straight to the solicitor and file for a divorce."  
  
"Then once again, you are on a time constraint."  
  
Harry nodded. And once again, he had a decision to make. "What about you? And Astoria?"  
  
"I haven't seen Astoria in five years. She divorced me two years ago and moved to Prague. Her duty to her family, and mine, was done. She owed us nothing and had no interest in Scorpius. Maternal instincts are not always present in the female, you see, which turned out well for me. Scorpius is my son, not hers. And Mother dotes on him."  
  
"How old is he?" Harry asked. Draco let go of his hands and leaned against the stone next to him.  
  
"Five."  
  
"So is Albus. James is seven and Lily is…" Harry frowned. Lily had been their last-ditch effort to recover whatever emotion had been slipping away between him and Ginny. The reconciliation had been short-lived, and Harry had been writing the whole time. "Lily is two."  
  
Silence stretched between them, and they watched the cars glide past on the motorway. Horns beeped and tires screeched, and the city moved on around them.  
  
"I thought about you every day," Harry admitted. "Every single day."  
  
"Do you think we would have lasted? We were young and foolish and had no idea what we even wanted. Do you really think we would have run away? Explored the world?"  
  
Harry looked at him and smiled for the first time. "I don't know. We probably would have had spectacular fights. Probably over ridiculous things. But, even so, I like to think we would have made it. Maybe that's a pipe dream, created over too many late-night musings and fantasising about what-ifs."  
  
"And now?"  
  
"Why did you come?"  
  
"I read your book. I know our single night together rocked your foundations. I knew you were here, that day, when I couldn't be here. I knew without a moment of doubt, locked away in my hellish prison, I  _knew_  that you were here, waiting for me. And though you couldn't know it at the time, my foundations were just as shaken. Not merely because of who I am, but because of who we were together. Maybe it was a fluke, a brilliant day made perfect by too much sun and gelato and fine wine, but maybe it wasn't. Maybe every day could have been that brilliant, even with arguments and anger and petty mistakes. Maybe the heart of it was too good to have been destroyed so easily. Or maybe I just felt cheated out of the chance to find out one way or the other."  
  
Moisture pricked at Harry's eyes. How often had he felt the same way over the years? "What if it's too late?"  
  
"Only you can make that decision, Harry." Draco linked their fingers together and lifted Harry's hand to kiss his knuckles, one by one. "Do you want me to go?"  
  
"I want to go to the hotel. Our hotel."  
  
Draco pulled him to his feet. "I have a scooter. Around the corner."  
  
And Harry laughed.  
  
 **7:02 am**  
  
Draco rolled over in bed and reached out a hand, but encountered nothing. He sat up, trying not to feel alarmed. To his relief, Harry sat in a chair next to the open window. He was not looking out at the city; he was looking at Draco.  
  
Pushing aside uneasiness--although they had become reacquainted with one another's bodies, they hadn't spoken of Harry's decision at all--Draco slid his legs off the bed and sat up. He felt a spark of pride when Harry's gaze caressed him. That hadn't changed between them at all, except to be even better thanks to sheer appreciation of what had been missing in their lives. Draco felt like he'd come home.  
  
Draco watched him. Harry had changed, but only for the better. He'd grown stronger, and leaner, and had a new carefulness about him that seemed to have tempered the recklessness of his youth. And his rugged handsomeness had honed into a stunning package of sexy maturity. He could have been a bloody model for Witch Weekly.  
  
Something was in Harry's hands; a disk of some sort. Draco got up and walked to the window, pulling up the twin chair to sit adjacent. He took the disk from Harry and turned it over. It seemed to be the plastic lid from a tub of lemon-flavoured yogurt.  
  
"Portkey?" Draco guessed.  
  
Harry nodded.  
  
"What time?"  
  
"Eight o'clock."  
  
"Time for a shower, then."  
  
Harry nodded and left the Portkey on the seat of the chair. They took a bath instead of a shower, filling the huge marble tub with hot water and bubbles, and exploring crevices and planes and angles they might have missed the night before.  
  
Afterwards, Draco pulled on his trousers and watched as Harry dressed. He hadn't said much, and Draco had no idea what he was thinking. He wondered if he should say something, anything, or if it was far too late for words. Everything he had felt had been expressed during the night past, spoken with hands and lips and tongue, but few words.  
  
Harry picked up the Portkey and turned it over in his hands. Possibly, he was thinking of his children, and wondering how they would survive if he followed his heart instead of his head, as he had been willing to do nine years ago. Then, such a decision would have had limited consequences. Now, there was much more to consider, more lives to be shaken by an inconvenient choice.  
  
"I remember," Harry said quietly. "I remember that I wasn't happy before Florence. And I wasn't really happy after Florence, either, although there were moments. It would have been pretty pathetic never to have had another happy moment, yeah? Some parts were brilliant." He lifted his eyes to Draco. "But I never felt for a moment that there wasn't something missing. And I knew that it was here."  
  
Draco walked to him and held out his hand. Harry pressed the Portkey into his hand. Draco lifted his wand and, after one questioning glance at Harry, he tapped the Portkey and murmured a spell. It transformed into a large butterfly, startlingly blue with black-tipped wings. Harry smiled and they watched as it hovered in the air, and then with a flash of wings it fluttered out the open window and into the sky.  
  
"It seems you might miss your Portkey," Draco commented.  
  
Harry shut the window and turned to wrap Draco in a hard embrace. "That's funny. I don't miss it at all."

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